


We Draw Our Own Worlds

by NotQuiteInsane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Artists, Drawing, Humans, Hunting, Imagination, M/M, stories, story telling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteInsane/pseuds/NotQuiteInsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean take their hunting trips every so often, but what happens when Sam comes across something more in the woods?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic EVER. Go easy on me please! /o\ I've only done minor editing, so if there's anything glaringly obvious, I apologize. WIP I guess... Going to write more, I just wanted to get this out here and see if anyone liked it...  
> Btw, it'll get updated whenever I feel like it, meaning maybe more than once a week, maybe once per month. We'll see how long it lasts...

       A gunshot crack rang out through the silence of the woods as Sam tried to brace against the recoil of his rifle. First few hours of the day and he'd already bagged a buck. Even as the deer stumbled to the ground, Sam was up and running to inspect the kill. Six point, so not his best, but the beast looked like it had plenty of meat on it. He and Dean were going to be having a lot of venison in the coming months.  
      Getting up from where he was crouched beside the animal, Sam shook all six feet four inches out and looked around. The woods where he was hunting were pristine, as gorgeous in the fall as they were in the spring. Northern Michigan had hunting grounds aplenty and he and his brother made a point of coming up every year to hunt their favorite spots. Dean had picked a place an hour or so west that, when Dean was fifteen, he'd gotten his first deer at as their father, John, stood proudly by. Once every few years Dean would return to the spot and bask in the memories it brought back.  
      It didn't matter that Sam had his law degree and worked as a defense lawyer, he always took the time to make tracks with his brother through the wilderness when they both had a weekend off. Sam hadn't been the biggest fan of hunting when he was younger, a fact that John Winchester had no tolerance towards. Hunting was in their blood, as the proud father had always said. You can't back away from this.  
      Sam had given a very pointed, fuck you, and walked out, preferring to follow up on his full ride to Stanford. It was soon after that that John had been killed in a hunting accident with one of his rivals for best buck, Azazel Something-Or-Other. Dean had come to him at college, something John never dared to do, and told him the news. Sam couldn't forget the sound of the Impala rumbling up to the curb for that fateful meeting.  
      Shaking off the feeling of nostalgia, Sam started to gather things up prepare for getting the buck back to his truck.

 

 

 

 

\-----------

      It took more than one trip to get everything back to the green Ford F250, but Sam was okay with that. If it didn't take effort, it wasn't a good hunt, he reminded himself, stepping through fallen leaves to get at his pack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and suddenly stood up, slowing his breathing on instinct. What was that? Another deer?  
       Instead, he saw a person, dressed lightly for the weather in jeans, work boots, and a faded green t-shirt, covered by a flannel button up. The man was walking swiftly through the woods, not looking around, eyes focused on a goal. His strides were long and Sam couldn't help but notice the grace with which he moved, almost gliding over the roots of trees and finding his way across the uneven ground. His blonde hair was short, but looked slightly mussed, as though he hadn't quite figured out how to work a comb.  
Sam kept watching as the man turned to go downhill, into a small valley that had a stream trickling along at its lowest point. He was barely a dot in the distance when the man stopped at the base of a tree and looked up. Without any further ado, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and began to climb, eventually disappearing into the needles of the pine.  
       Curiosity piqued, Sam dropped his backpack and started to amble down the hill and towards the stand of trees that the man had disappeared into. There were about six pines, all enormous, all clustered into one beastly mass of needle and bark, but looking easy enough to amble up. What could be up there that the man was going for? Or maybe he was just crazy and liked sitting in trees.  
      Sam shrugged and took one last look up through the thick branches, but didn't catch a glimpse of anything. Maybe he was just hallucinating, not enough calories or something. With a last little glance, Sam took a deep breath in and, smelling the crisp scent of pines, walked back along his previous path.

 

 

 

 

\-----------

      Dean, of course, wanted to know where he'd gotten the deer. Luck hadn't been on the older brother's side that day and he'd seen neither hide nor hair of a deer. One porcupine, three turkey and a bobcat, but no deer. He'd entered the motel room with a scowl on his face, dumping his stuff and immediately going for a beer. There were two left and Dean hastily hid the other one behind the empty bottles on the counter so that he wouldn't have to share it later. So, when Sam trudged in, hair flopping, stupid grin on his face, Dean just scowled more heavily and took a swig from his bottle.  
      "Dude, how's this fair?" The remote came up and the channel changed from the news to some stupid cooking show to Animal Planet to public television and then switching off. Dean put the remote down and looked at his dope of a brother. "Seriously. You gotta show me your spot, Sammy."  
Carefully, Sam let his bag down on the floor and started taking off his shoes in a last ditch attempt to keep the room from looking too much like their personal man cave. "Trade secret, man," he said, still grinning. "At least we've got some meat, though, right?"  
      Dean let out a small "ha" of sarcastic laughter and got up to chuck the empty bottle next to the other ones. He grabbed the other bottle and opened it, taking a quick drink. "So... did you bring--"  
      A plastic container was held up and Dean chuckled. "You seriously thought I could forget after, what was it, twelve texts? Course I remembered the pie." It was handed over and Dean finished it off within minutes, groaning his pleasure.  
      The two sat down at the little table, a comfortable silence falling over them as Sam checked his email and Dean finished his drink, before Sam spoke up again.  
      "So, weird thing happened," he remarked suddenly.  
      "Yeah? Did a lady Sasquatch come and propose?"  
      "Jerk."  
      "Bitch."  
      "Nah, but I saw this guy out by my spot. It was really weird," Sam closed the lid of the laptop and put his elbows on the table, head resting on his fists. If he looked out of the window, he could see the road and after that a stand of trees before the land gave way to the harbor. It was just light enough to see a few waves lapping against the rocky shore of Lake Superior.  
      "Hope you didn't shoot him," Dean grumbled, taking another sip. "That's all we need."  
      "No, you dumbass. I was packing up all my gear and I just saw him walking through the forest. Wasn't wearing a coat, but I don't know of any houses or cabins out there, so I don't think he could have just been out for a casual walk. I don't know, it was just weird. He walked up to a bunch of pine trees and climbed up into them. Didn't see him come down." Sam let out a huff of breath. "I almost think I was imagining it."  
      "Maybe it was a vampire or a shapeshifter." Dean waggled his eyebrows and Sam reached over to smack him.  
       He missed, but said, "Shut up, man. You know that Dad just used to tell us those stories to scare us, to keep us in the motel room when he was out hunting."  
       "I dunno, Sam. Maybe it was even a demon. You know Dad used to say they could take over people's bodies and then they creep into your room and--"  
        

      "Shut up!" Sam laughed and took another playful swing, but Dean blocked it, grinning. It was one of the things they both remembered fondly about their dad, the way he always used to tell them bedtime stories about the monsters and the nasties that could come at them from the dark. Neither of the two knew where he'd come up with these stories, but their dad had had a whole journal full of them. He'd never let either one of them touch it, but it was always around, sitting on a shelf or a counter. There was lore on all kinds of beasts in that book. Every time one of the two of them heard about some supernatural creature, they'd look it up in the journal, just to keep the memories going. If they couldn't find an entry on it, they'd call up Uncle Bobby, who also had an arsenal of knowledge (and enough guns to equip an army) at his disposal to keep them informed

      Sam's favorite had always been the stories about angels and demons, the holy wars that were fought on Earth and in Hell. He always sided with the angels in these tales, but he couldn't help but have a curiosity about the demons and how they had come to be. The archangel Lucifer had been thrown down from Heaven for defying the wishes of God, trapped in his cage for all eternity, but he'd still managed to create the demons to fight for him, to try to gain back his freedom. Sam couldn't help but admire the strength and perseverance, even if he didn't agree with the methods.  
      Sam remembered thinking about what would happen in the stories if Lucifer could have been set free from the cage. Would he have tried to fight the host of Heaven, his own sibling angels? Or would he have taken his fury out on the rest of the world? Maybe both? It scared him when he was a kid, but even now, Sam wondered what had caused Lucifer to hate humanity so much.  
      But they were just stories. Scary stories told in the dark, but in the end, just stories. Michael and the other angels would always win against the horde of evil creatures every time because that's how stories were. They had happy endings. Always.  
      "What're you going to do, then?"  
      Sam looked at his brother in confusion. "What?"  
      "You gonna try and find out what he was doing in the trees?" Dean finished his beer and got up to ditch the bottle, but kept an eye on Sam.  
      Sam frowned. "I don't know. I supposed if he was actually there and I wasn't imagining things, whatever he was doing is his own business."  
      "Like that ever stopped you before," Dean scoffed.  
      "Right." Sam looked back out the window and let the peace of the lake enter him as they got ready to go out to their favorite bar.

 

 

 

 

\-----------

      Sam's curiosity got the better of him. Early the next morning when Dean was still sleeping off his whiskey hangover, he was up and getting in his truck to return to his hunting spot. He had the bone handled knife that he'd gotten from an old girlfriend strapped to his leg. Just in case. Dean had always laughed at him for carrying it around when he was hunting.  
      "What, you think the runes, or whatever, on there are special or something?" Dean had asked at one point. "Think they kill demons?" He'd always joked about it, but secretly, Sam believed it.  
      He climbed into his F250 and started her up, looking at the Impala parked nearby longingly. He missed the days when Dean and he would go road tripping just for the hell of it. Hours and hours on end with Dean's terrible music choices and the roar of the old, but pampered, engine. It never got old, no matter how often they'd done it. After pulling out of the parking space, he took a deep breath and started driving.  
      What did he expect to find? The blonde man had intrigued him, sure, but was it really worth the trip all the way out there? Maybe he just had a tree stand with all his gear for hunting up there and hadn't noticed that Sam also hunted the same stretch. There wasn't anything sinister to him, from what Sam had seen, at least. He just looked like a normal, slightly more graceful than average, guy. So then why was he so hard to forget?  
      Sam bit the corner of his bottom lip lightly and pulled onto the shoulder of the road where he could trek back to his spot. Getting out of the driver's seat, he grabbed his backpack out of the back and threw it over his shoulder. Never know when a few yards of rope can come in handy, right? With a breath, Sam started the two mile hike into the Michigan wilderness.  
      It took about half an hour to find the exact spot, but Sam managed without getting out the GPS stowed in his pack. The valley unfolded before him, trees of all kinds and sizes adorning the slopes, casting their shade and leaves everywhere. Birds made their sounds from just about every direction, commenting on the intruder in their midst. Wind rustled the branches all around, swirling the leaves up into the air and causing Sam to shiver. He could just about see the group of trees in the distance.  
      Going down the slope was a little trickier than it had been the previous day. It had rained during the night and Sam managed to slip and slide halfway down before he fell, grazing his hand on a fallen limb before he could catch himself. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped his hand gently on his jeans and kept going, reaching the bottom pretty quickly. It was going to be a tricky journey back up unless the ground dried pretty fast.  
      The trees were about thirty yards ahead and slightly to the right, and squinting, Sam thought he could see a shape in the uppermost reaches that looked almost like a child's tree house. Before he could even think about turning around and going back to the truck, he was off like a jack-rabbit, a burning need to know what was up there eating at him from the inside out.  
      Sam had never been an amazing tree climber. There was something about the bark of most trees that just kept him sliding back down the trunk even after multiple tries. Dean had always laughed at him when they were kids, giving him a boost up when little Sammy couldn't get to the lower branches on his own. It was always a game to see who could climb the farthest up, and Dean always won.  
      These trees, however, had branches low enough to the ground that Sam could simply pull all six and a third feet of him up and then scale the rest like a ladder. The smell of evergreen overwhelmed him as he climbed into the thick needles. Every so often an oddly angled branch would catch at his backpack, causing him to stop and untangle himself. Eventually, he found what he was looking for.  
      Close to the top of the gnarled mass of tree, there was a sort of tree house. It couldn't have been more than ten feet on all sides, but it was still surprising that the trees could support its weight. There were two windows, facing east and west respectively, but he couldn't see through either of them because, strange as it was, they were stained glass mosaics. Both were made of whites, yellows and blues, but with opposing images, one of a rising star and the other of a falling star. There was a hinged door on one side, latched shut without a lock. Squinting through his hair, which by now was everywhere and full of needles, Sam pulled the door as far open as it could go and climbed into the box.  
      What he saw made him blink in amazement. Inside the small tree house were dozens upon dozens of drawings, all of them showing the same images over and over again. He crawled further in to take a look, dropping his backpack and sitting in the middle of the wooden floor. Dumbstruck, he gazed at the angels all around him.  
Done in charcoal, pencil, paints, ink, and what looked suspiciously like blood were humanoid creatures with great sweeping wings and wrathful expressions. They swooped into battle, swords raised, or stood above a child, hand out, giving a blessing. A few images showed angels standing in front of a great light, gazing with adoration on their faces. As Sam turned, he saw more and more drawings, all tacked to the walls and fluttering faintly from the draught coming in through the open door. The more he saw, the closer to the works of art he had to get, until his nose was almost touching the closest one. It was of an angel in charcoal, down on one knee, head in hands. Its wings looked beaten and bloody, limp and weak. Above the downtrodden angel stood another angel, pointing a strange blade at it, wrath terrible upon its face.  
       When Sam looked up at the ceiling he gasped. There was a mural depicting the host of Heaven going to war. The oil painting showed two sides battling on multiple fields, each led by a shining figure with one of the strange blades from the other drawing. The army on the left, led by the white and gold figure was full of black shapes, huge and terrifying, teeth gnashing, pestilence and vermin spewing from all open spaces. On the right were the angels, led by the white and silver figure. They all flew, coming down upon their dark adversaries with hate in their eyes.  
      So engrossed in his observations and with his back turned to the doorway, Sam didn't notice a head peer up over the edge of the floor and into the small room. He still didn't notice when the man crawled up and sat in the open space, looking as though he would never fall. Then, the man spoke.  
      "Good morning."  
      Sam jumped about a foot and nearly shouted his surprise. Whipping around, he saw the man he'd followed here, blonde hair still unkempt, eyes a stunning shade of artic blue. He seemed to be wearing the same  clothes from the day before, the grey green button up and green t-shirt looking slightly rumpled. There was something more, though, something great about this man sitting before him, something majestic. Maybe it was the way he sat, back straight and forearms resting on his bent knees. It was alert and aware. Not only did this man know what was going on around him at every second, but he had command over it. And his voice. Completely aside from sounding like it hadn't been used in years, there was an ancient power to it. From even in just two words, it seemed like this man knew a lot, too much for any human. How could a man, mid-forties at most, be so old?  
      "I didn't--I'm sorry, I just-- I wasn't--" said the man who won most every case in a court of law.  
      "Slow down, tiger, take your time. I'm not going to hurt you." Blue eyes met hazel and locked in place.  
      Sam gulped and hoped the stranger didn't notice. He stuck out a hand. "Sam Winchester."  
      "Hello, Sam Winchester. I'm Lucifer."


	2. Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy. Yeah. So I sorta just wanted to get this out. I'll probably edit tomorrow, but I actually have internet for my laptop right now so it's getting posted before relatives drag me to the four corners of Iowa...   
> Really rough. Excuse any lack of description or punctuation errors, please.

"L-Lucifer? As in the devil?" Sam was trying to not stutter, seriously. It just wasn't coming out very well in this situation. He'd been caught trespassing into someone else's territory, their frickin', like, treehouse, and this guy was sitting there and giving himself the name of the devil. Well, Sam supposed, he was an angel at one point, which might explain...  
    Lucifer caught his glance around at all the art on the walls. "Yes, very good. Not many people remember that he was an angel," he mused. "It's good to know someone that knows their lore. Devil is a title, not a name." Sitting back on his heels, the man grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth in a predator grin that was frankly unnerving, but slightly alluring as well.  
    "My dad," Sam explained. "He used to tell me stories."  
    Eyebrows raised, causing the skin on Lucifer's forehead to wrinkle. "Really? Now what were those stories about?"  
    Sam cleared his throat, basically willing to say anything if it would get him out of trouble. He knew breaking and entering was a crime and he knew the penalties. He'd been on both sides of the table in the courtroom on this matter. He knew what the sentence could be and he wanted to avoid anything that would tarnish his reputation. Maybe telling a few stories to this man would get him to drop any charges he'd thought about raising?  
    "Supernatural phenomena, I guess. Vampires, ghouls, witches, werewolves, Shtriga, angels and demons, you know." He cleared his throat again and continued. "Like, once there was a small village," Sam started, falling into story mode. "Everyone there knew that if you kept salt lines across all entrances to your house, evil spirits wouldn't be able to get in. You'd live a long life and sleep well at night if only those salt lines remained unbroken. There was this one guy, though, Rossen, who thought that all this superstition was just silly. He was one of the strongest men in the village. Some said that he could singlehandedly fell one of the great pines and drag it to the mill without so much as breaking a sweat. What use did he have for old wives' tales and nonsense like that? So one night, he cleaned all the salt up from around his house without his wife knowing and went to sleep.  
    "The next morning when he woke there were bloodstains all around and he found two of his children dead in their beds, throats slashed and symbols drawn on their walls. One of the kids was missing, though. Rossen thought that his daughter had been taken by the murderer and organized a search party. Rossen and his group of fifteen strong men followed the blood until it stopped and then followed the small tracks that must have been from the child. There was no sign of anyone else, though, which was odd. Rossen, however, plowed mercilessly on, ignoring the others' suggestions that they should go home for the night, that they weren't going to find anything in the dark. Regardless, he continued.  
    "When he and his men found the cave, it was full on night. Five or six of his party had turned back without him, leaving the group at ten strong men. Surely this was enough to take down one child murderer? But when they entered the cave, they found no man, just Rossen's daughter. She stood in the middle of the cave, covered in tacky blood, simply staring at them. When her father approached her, she let out an almighty scream and all of the men flew back, as though struck by an invisible hand. When they looked up, the daughter had already killed two people, ripping out their throats with her bare hands, eyes turned totally black.  
    "Rossen was the last one alive and he cried for his daughter. What had come over her? What madness was this that allowed her to overpower the strongest men of the village? It seemed as though the spirits themselves had entered her. Then he remembered the salt lines he had broken and the bag of salt he carried with him at behest of his wife. When his daughter drew near, laughing and holding her dripping hands out in front of her, she opened her mouth. Instead of allowing her to talk though, he threw the salt into her mouth.  
    "A great plume of crackling smoke erupted from her mouth and flew up into the sky, not dissipating, just moving on. Rossen screamed at it, but it faded from his sight. When he turned back to his daughter, she was lying motionless on the ground. All of a sudden she woke up, crying, and all Rossen could do was hold her and cry with her. When they made it back to the village, the wives of the dead villagers cried, but Rossen and his family just remade the salt lines and sat with each other until all tears had been shed and all talk of demons fell from crowded minds."  
    As he finished, Sam looked up at Lucifer, trying to gauge his reaction. All he saw was a look of vague interest mixed with curiosity. In combination with his rumpled clothing, it made him look like some historian trying to figure out a mystery of the past. But instead of being interested in the past, Lucifer's attention was aimed at Sam, which was disconcerting to say the least. If he was honest, though, the interest wasn't one sided. Who was this guy that he had the name of a fallen angel and drawings of the battles of Heaven on his walls?  
    "Interesting story," Lucifer commented. "What's the moral?"  
    "Errr..." Sam struggled for a second. "There's a moral? Isn't it just allowed to be a story?"  
    Lucifer looked at him for a few moments, and then said, "All the myths are true. That's the moral."  
    Sam couldn't help but let a small laugh out. "So, demons are giant columns of smoke that take over children and make them kill their families?"  
    "Why not? Who has ever said they've seen an actual demon? What proof is there that they are giant hulking beasts with horns?"  
    He thought about it for a second. "Fair enough. But monsters aren't real, anyway. They're just ways that people used to explain things they couldn't explain. If someone had schizophrenia or were manic, they were seeing spirits or monsters or were possessed by a demon. Those stories were just ways to explain the unexplainable in the past."  
    A smile flickered across the man's face. "That's one way of explaining it, yes."  
    Sam eyed him. There was an amusement etched into the Lucifer's face that Sam couldn't help but wonder at. It made him seem almost fully normal. There were laugh lines on his face that hinted at a good life, though they were juxtaposed with a set of wrinkles from frowning that showed an equal measure of strife. "What, you don't think these things exist, do you?"  
    "If they did, would you accept the truth?" Lucifer frowned when Sam let out a snort. "What's so funny?"  
    "Well, it's just, your name is Lucifer," Sam pointed out, unhelpfully.  
    Lucifer scowled. "I know that."  
    "And you're lecturing me on truth."  
    "The angel never lied, Sam," he said quietly, suddenly drawing into himself. His face wrinkled around those frown lines. "I thought you would know that. You seem to be intelligent."  
    Sam plowed on, regardless. "But he's the devil. He tells lies in order to manipulate people, to get people to join his side against God and the rest of the angels."  
    Fire flared up in Lucifer's eyes and he snapped, "He told the truth that nobody wanted him to tell and then the other angels, his family, his brothers and sisters cast him down into Hell where they thought he wouldn't be able to question any longer. But what was so wrong about him wondering why he should love the tiny little apes that his Father put onto the planet? Why should he have loved them more than God? He never lied, just wondered why something so ludicrous was asked of him."  
    Whoa, where had that come from? Sam scooted back a little bit. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean--"  
    "Yes, you did," the man interrupted, leaning forward and pinning the taller man with his icy gaze. "You spoke your mind and I spoke mine. The story of the archangel Lucifer is not what most people think it is." He looked up and around at the pictures all around and grabbed one off of the wall. "I'll tell you a story, shall I?"  
    "Long ago, before most of the land on this planet had risen up out of the seas, a host of beings watched over it. The angels of Heaven looked down from on high, preserving the sanctity of those oceans and obeying His commands to help the life that was slowly developing in its depths. Single cells became larger and more complex until they developed into more. In time, they began to think, to feel and they crawled their way out of the oceans.  
    "For millennia, the Heavenly host watched as these creations, so small, so terrified, created their own lives on the slowly emerging land. Plants began coating the earth in their curling leaves and flowing forms. Flowers grew from their buds and fruits came soon thereafter. The animals began their own path. They grew and multiplied and all sorts of species came forth, though none as beautiful as the angels that God himself had created. One of the brightest beings came forward to ask a question of its father.  
    "'Why are these creatures born of mud so worth your attention, father?' the angel asked. 'Are they not blemishes upon this beautiful planet you have created?'"  
    "And God said, 'No, child. They are to be loved, just as I love you. They raise themselves from squalor and dirt on their own, without prompting from any of us. Look how they learn!' And from the masses of animal life taking shape on the planet below, a single race began to capture the attention of the heavenly father. The apes were beginning to take on a greater intelligence than the rest of the animals in the forests and on the plains. They made tools and created fire to keep them warm at night.    
    "'Look and see what they have made themselves into,' said God to the Morning Star. 'Soon they will grow to be the most beloved of creatures. You must pour your affections unto them as you do unto me. Your brothers and sisters already have shown their adoration.' And God pointed to the Morning Star's own brother, Michael, who watched over a pair of human beings, as they were beginning to be called, as if they were Michael's own family. This filled Lucifer with curiosity. What did a great angel see in those flawed beings?  
    "And so he fled his father and soared to the planet below to see what about these hairless apes was so special. The pair of humans that Michael watched were called Adam and Lilith, Lucifer soon found out, for they had named themselves and started to make a life for themselves. Very soon after Lucifer's arrival, however, Lilith was scorned by her mate, Adam, after she told him she had seen a great light in the sky. She said that the light was meant to be their guide, but Adam was not one to believe in something greater than him and cast her out. She took her revenge in killing the children of the people who exiled her, looking bitterly on Adam's new mate, Eve, who was a gentle creature with none of Lilith's fire.  
    "Lucifer came to Lilith in a dream and spoke to her, asking if she still owed allegiance to her own kind. In awe, Lilith fell before this great light and called it her guide, her savior, her God, much to Lucifer's amusement. But he bid her reject her kind if they so hurt her, and so, following his instruction, Lilith became something more than human. She drew on the powers of fire and darkness to take revenge on those people that had shunned her.  
    "Having spoken with Lilith for much time and believing to understand her state of mind, Lucifer desired to know more about these human creatures, for his thirst for knowledge was paralleled by none and approached by few. Lucifer flew with his six great wings to the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve were said to live out their lives. On arriving, the angel met almost immediately with the woman who had replaced Lilith in Adam's affections. Remembering Lilith's initial reaction to his form of pure and unaltered light, Lucifer chose the form of a great serpent in which to speak to Eve instead.  
    "'Eve,' said Lucifer. 'I have great wonder in regard to your people. Please, speak to me here!' If the angel had thought that the form of a giant snake was any less daunting, another form would have been chosen, but alas, Lucifer did not think to pick a less terrifying shape. Eve let out a wail and fell to her knees, begging for the serpent before her to spare her life. Her voice sounded like the songs of birds in the morning, like the music of the trees and the trickling of the mossy brook. It was beautiful, but held none of the spark that Lilith's had.  
    "'I come not to hurt you, human,' said Lucifer in haste. 'I only want to speak.' And so Eve calmed herself, looking into the eyes of the snake. She saw intelligence there and spoke.  
    "'Please, if I harmed any of your kind, it was not out of dislike. They went near the Apple Tree and I was bid to keep them from touching it,' Eve explained as though Lucifer had the background to understand. 'I hope that you harbor no ill will towards me.'  
    "At first, Lucifer was trusting of the woman. Lilith had shown herself to be quite the companion for wandering the hills and forests of this place. Why could Eve not be the same? And so the angel spoke back. 'What Apple Tree is this that you speak of?' And so Eve explained to Lucifer about the fruit bearing tree that was said to hold all knowledge. The humans were forbidden to eat from the tree, though, as they were not ready for the information that it would entreat them. It was Eve's job to guard the tree from any animal or person that tried to gain the forbidden fruit, though it seemed that she was lax in her duties many a time, once allowing the Mockingbird to learn the sounds of other animals. Lucifer was astounded! How could the angel's father allow these creatures to go on in ignorance when they could begin to learn all the host had to teach them? And so Lucifer asked that she lead the way to this great tree.  
    "She did so, quite willingly, though when they reached the wall surrounding it, she made the serpent stop in his slithering progress. ’I can let you go no further, I fear,' she said regretfully. 'The fruit is not for us to partake in.'  
    "'But why, good Eve? Is not everything on this wide world to be explored and retained? Why could you not have a single bite of one of those apples?' Lucifer's bewilderment was so astounding to Eve that she began to question her orders.  
    "'I guess a single bite couldn't hurt,' she admitted, and approached the tree. No sooner had she taken a chomp out of one of the rosy apples did a bolt of light fall down to the ground and then raised itself up. It took the form of a male human, though with obvious differences. He stood at over ten feet tall with six glorious wings held out from his back. They appeared as silver feathers, though they were translucent and hummed with innate power. His hair was the same undulating silver and his deep blue eyes shone like lanterns in the fading twilight. Recognizing Michael's grace, Lucifer abandoned the form of the serpent and took another shape as a human male. Where Michael's wings were molten silver, Lucifer's were gold, pure as the sun and lovely as the burning star for which he was named. His hair was a golden halo, eyes the blue white of ice. Eve fell down and bowed before the archangels.  
    "'Brother,' Michael admonished, his voice a scream of static and glory, 'Why have you tempted this woman into eating the forbidden fruit? Our Father has dictated that they not consume its knowledge until they are ready.'  
    "Lucifer ruffled his six wings, sending out a shockwave of sound which made the souls of every living thing for miles glow bright as day. 'I simply wished her to have the same wisdom as I have given the human Lilith. Why should these humans have different knowledge than each other? We angels know so many things from birth and these hairless apes are born with nothing. Why should they not know about God, not know about us?'  
    "'It was not your place to act as our father, Lucifer. This human, this... Lilith, who is she?' Michael looked at his brother for the answer, but Eve's voice came up first.  
    "'She is the woman who took our children from us when it was told she could have none of our own. She is dark, she has a hole where her soul should be, Lord Michael.' She now knew the names of the angels and knew of her lord God. 'It seems that Lucifer has befriended this treacherous snake of a woman. I would call for her destruction. She has murdered her own kind, against the wishes of the heavenly father.'  
    "Michael seemed in agreement with this sentence and though Lucifer protested, he would not be persuaded otherwise. Lilith was called from her place of resting and ripped through the folds of space to be in front of her archangel's brother. She stood on her own two feet, long blonde hair straight down her back, a fierce look on her face. She was not afraid of the shining figure before her.  
    "'We have looked into your soul and found you wanting, Lilith, daughter of Eden.' Michael looked down upon her and despite Lucifer’s protestations, made her kneel. Lilith kept her eyes up and defiant. 'You have killed your own kind out of spite and misguided trust.' Here, Michael eyed his brother. 'For this you must be punished.'  
    "'Burn her,' jeered Eve. 'She destroyed our children when her fiery temper got the better of her. Let her feel how that can affect all others!'  
    "And Michael just nodded. He saw the logic in the statement, but Lucifer cried out. 'Brother! She had motive! Adam cast her out for telling of a higher power! Lilith saw us in Heaven and said the mud men should worship, but Adam denied her and the light of God! Why should she be punished?' Lucifer was distraught. He had started to believe in this new breed of animal, started to take a liking to them, because of Lilith and her wild nature. Eve had torn down all of those feelings and then called for the death of his guide to human kind. Why should vengeance be taken on Lilith when it was Eve who had taken the apple? This could not be forgiven.  
    "But Lucifer's brother could not be dissuaded. His desire to punish something was overwhelming and so with an almighty roar, a fire sprang up and engulfed the kneeling Lilith, almost covering her screams with the sound of crackling flames. In a final attempt to save her, Lucifer let out a static scream that pulsed through the flames. But they acted as a dark prism and refracted the anguish unto Lilith and nothing else. Something shattered and her soul erupted in a plume of black smoke, taking to the skies in hope of escape. Even as she fled, Michael threw lightning at her and she took it into herself, gaining more energy and power than she could have had otherwise.  
    "She escaped, but had changed. She could only walk when inside the body of another. If Lilith had hoped to have children, she was to be disappointed because with no body and only the remnants of a soul, nothing would grow inside of her. And so she fled to the darkest pits she could find, into Hell itself, and screamed her rage.  
    "Lucifer, having watched her descent into the inferno fled across the Earth, trying to get as far from his brother as possible, but as he always did, Michael caught up. 'You defied my wishes, little brother,' Michael said, wrath in his gaze. 'You run after you commit your crime, showing guilt stronger than the blame which might be placed upon you. What else have you done that the host has not seen?'  
    "'I have done nothing, Michael,' Lucifer replied, anger in his voice. 'You accuse me for things I have not done and you punish humans who do not fit with your plan of subservience. Eve flatters you, calling you great and you turn in full to spit back in the faces of those who would support you.' The golden angel stood taller and then expanded into his full form, wings nearly rending the space around the angels with their sheer power. Michael regressed to the form of the archangel and let silver light clash with gold, creating dissonance so strong that magma rushed up from the depths of the Earth and broke ground, leaving ruin in its wake. But the two angels would not step down. Their screams sent cracks across reality, the static tune bursting in the air until with a mighty clash; they broke apart and were thrown to either end of creation.  
    "And God spoke again to them both. 'Children, you fight your rivalry where none desire. Stow your claims and grate your voices elsewhere. The consequences of your actions will send shockwaves across reality. Let this not be decided now. Come back in peace and I will let this lie. If you continue this quarrel measures will be taken upon the guilty party.'  
    "And so a short truce was born. Michael and Lucifer returned to Heaven and though their siblings asked, nothing was revealed. Gabriel went to Lucifer in hopes of calming that icy fury but nothing would abate it. Raphael, however, approached Michael with a plan. It was a dangerous proposal, but the two plotted in secret, hiding themselves even from their father, meeting in the dark reaches of the universe where Leviathans and ancient powers still ruled.  
    "Their scheme came to fruition and Lucifer fell from Heaven and into the cage of Hell, where the archangel was to be contained for the rest of the time until his release came by the hand of the humans he had been accused of corrupting. Over those ages, Lucifer grew bitter and turned other to his cause. Lilith was to be the angel's greatest ally in the coming years and as they looked upon the human race and saw evil growing, they gained all the insight they needed for the coming Apocalypse. Humans must be scoured off the Earth."


	3. Recollections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm basically pulling all of this out of thin air... I suppose I should add a freeform tag, but I don't really wanna.... Meh. Deal with it, please. =)  
> If there are any glaring inconsistencies, please please please feel free to tell me. 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying the story so far!

                The two sat in silence for a few minutes until Lucifer looked down at the painting in his hands and then slid it into Sam's lap. He looked down at it, taking in the vivid colours, and saw a beautiful woman, light hair trailing down her back, but on her knees before two brilliant beings. The one in front of the blonde had silver hair, but Sam couldn't make out his features aside from the six magnificent wings arched out from his back. Michael, he realized. It was Michael and Lilith and that meant that the golden figure...

                "That's Lucifer? And Michael?"

                "The original sibling rivalry." Lucifer was completely still, looking down at his hands as though they were something separate from himself, as though they had done something terrible.

                Sam looked back down at the piece of canvas and examined Lucifer more carefully. He was in profile, an expression of agony on his face, as though he really did care about Lilith. The sharp features were familiar, but Sam couldn't place them. It was as though he'd met the angel in a dream, or something. The connection was just beyond his grasp, teasing him. He shook his head and handed the painting back to the man across from him, who took it and tacked it back onto the wall. Then he took another down, this one a charcoal creation and handed it to Sam. Sam took it and when he looked down, all he saw was the archangel, but he was surrounded by a plume of black smoke so thick that it almost drowned out his light.

                "That's Lilith," Lucifer said quietly. "She was turned into a demon by Michael's wrath. You said that the demon who took Rossen's daughter was a great plume of smoke. You were adamant that demons were great plumes of smoke and here's your proof."

                Frowning, Sam handed the charcoal picture back to Lucifer and said, "So there's more than one story about demons being like that?"

                "Evidently so." He licked the edge of his bottom lip idly and Sam found himself watching the small movement, eyes focused on that mouth...

                "But what about all the ones about demons being giant monsters with horns and tails?"

                Lucifer shrugged. "They're wrong. They're fiction."

                "And the stories where they're smoke are true?"

                "It's all up to interpretation, dear Sam."

                Silence followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Lucifer just reattached the drawing to the wall and stood to get some things set on a high shelf behind Sam that he hadn't noticed before, leg nearly brushing flannel covered elbow. As he moved, the wind that trailed in his wake threw his scent at Sam, who inhaled the smell of ozone and cold autumn winds. Lucifer took down a framed canvas and some bright acrylic paints in plastic bottles and sat down just where he stood, forcing the other man to turn in place to keep him in sight.

                Sam watched with curiosity as the man dumped some paint onto a pallet and continued with the painting. He couldn't see what was being done or what the canvas even looked like because it was set up at an angle. Watching Lucifer work was enthralling, though. His brows furrowed in a way that suggested he was contemplating the wonders of the universe, but then again, maybe he was. What with all these angel and demon stories, Sam was starting to think that this treehouse was years in the making, not a recent endeavor.

                Lucifer's arm moved in strong, broad strokes across his piece of art, showing some mastery of the brush. He didn't waver at all, didn't seem to notice that Sam was staring, or that he was even there anymore. The younger man took the opportunity to move closer and to the side a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of the work.

                With a start, Lucifer looked up at him and his eyes narrowed, a daunting expression flitting over his face before it cleared to become more bland. Sam stopped moving. What had that look been?

                "If you want to see, you only needed to ask, Sam." He looked at the brunette expectantly. "Well, do you want me to show it to you?"

                "Yes."

                With just that word, Lucifer's mask of indifference shifted to a full toothed grin. "Sure thing, Sammy."

                "Don't call me Sammy," he mumbled as the canvas was turned towards him, but then his breath caught in his chest as he found himself looking into a Technicolor mirror. His eyes, his mouth, his hair, his everything from the navel and up was done perfectly. It caught his stubborn jaw, the wisps of hair he tried to keep tame, the strong set of his shoulders, the curves of the muscle in his chest.

                There was only one problem. His eyes weren't blue.

                Also, how in Hell had Lucifer painted this? He'd only met Sam that day and this portrait... it must have been hours upon hours of work.

                "What--"

                "Do you like it?"

                Hazel eyes met blue and hazel widened.

                "Who are you? How do you know me? No way you painted this all just now. You've been working on this for days, maybe even weeks." Sam got to his feet and started backing towards the door, which was still open from Lucifer's entrance earlier. "Explain yourself!"

                Blonde head turned to the side slightly, but those arctic blue eyes stayed locked on Sam's hazel ones. Arctic blue eyes that were painted so well into Sam's face. As he realized it, his stomach gave a lurch and he turned, scrambling out of the treehouse before Lucifer could get a word out in response.

                "Samuel!"

                Down and down he went, sliding through the branches as fast as he could, whipped by boughs on all sides. When he hit the bottom he took off running, wiping a bit of blood out of his eye from a cut that had opened above his eyebrow. Sap stuck to his hands, stinking of pine, but he kept running, struggling up the slope, never looking back.

\-------

                Back at the motel room, Sam was alone (Dean had left a note saying he was going to try a different spot that locals had said was great for deer) and shaking as he looked into the bathroom mirror. When he met his own eyes, blue ones stared back. Not thinking, Sam wrenched the bone handled knife from its leg holster and smashed the butt of it into the glass, destroying the image and shattering it into a million pieces that tumbled into the sink and skidded across the floor.

                “Fuck!” he yelled in surprise, jumping back. His right foot, shod only in a sock, hit a piece of glass and he swore again, even louder this time and jerked it off the floor. With a third, even louder, even more vehement curse, stumbled to the bed in the other room and sat, removing his slashed sock and gazing at the oozing cut on the bottom of his heel. Could the day get any worse?

                Winchester luck. Of course it could.

                Across the room, his phone rang out in the staccato notes he’d set for Dean several years ago but never had bothered to change. Getting up, he limped over to the far wall where the phone was stuck on the charger, dripping blood the whole way, and yanked it from the cord.

                “What?”

                “The hell you so cranky about, Sasquatch? Your mystery man turn out to be a figment of your imagination?” The voice that came across the speaker was amused and no doubt knew it was addressing the almighty bitch face.

                "Don't even go there, man. Now, what do you want?"

                A chuckle crackled through the line. "I ended up a little south of Houghton and found this awesome gas station. They have this seriously awesome pie. D'you want me to bring you back some? Or a pasty? I'm buying some anyway but if you tell me you want some, I'll try not to eat it all." Sam heard a bell ringing in the background and guessed that someone else had walked into the joint.

                "Just whatever, man. I don't care. I just need to get myself patched up, had a little accident."

                "You alright, Sammy?" There was genuine concern in Dean's voice. It made Sam smile a little. His brother was always looking after him no matter what and even if it got irritating at times, he knew Dean's heart was in the right place.

                "No, I'm good. Just got my heel banged up a bit."

                "Hey there," came from across the line and Sam guessed that it was to whoever was working the register. "We're still on for drinks tonight, though, right? Heading out tomorrow so we gotta go have some fun."

                "Yeah, right. Scouted any good places for hustling pool?"

                "Dude. You're a lawyer, you know you don't have to be doin' that shit anymore," Dean whispered, probably so the cashier wouldn't hear. Sam doubted that anyone would know what they were talking about anyway.

                "Old habits die hard, I guess." Sam grinned. "It was fun when we were younger, though, you know?"

                Dean's response hinted at the grin in his own face. "Maybe we can relive the old times, then. There's this bar between Houghton and Copper Harbor, little place on some crossroads. Don't remember what it's called, but we can head over there."

                "Sounds good." Sam looked down at the carpet and grimaced at the crimson stain beneath his foot. "Listen, I really gotta go. Gotta get this foot cleaned up."

                "Fair enough. See you in about an hour and a half then?" The sound of a bell chimed and Sam guess Dean had exited.

                "Great. Bye."

                They hung up and Sam grabbed the first-aid kit that Dean always kept in his ratty old duffel bag. Cleaning the injury, Sam thought back on the past few hours. The treehouse. The drawings, paintings, all of it. Blue eyes. Stubble. Lucifer. What was it about the man that made him anxious but curious at the same time?

                Sam could remember a client he'd defended a few years ago. Castiel Novak, he'd been called. The quiet, socially awkward male had been charged with a triple homicide by the LA police department. Sam had kept an eye on the investigation in the papers, wondering what kind of person could have carved demonic sigils into three people, horribly torturing and maiming them before finally killing the victims. There had been enormous public outcry at the LAPD when they searched for months, trying to find the culprit.

                When they'd finally accused Mr. Novak of three accounts of homicide, breaking and entering, rape, evasion of justice, and, in the words of a disgruntled citizen, on account of being "so ridiculously fucked up". Something about these words struck a chord in Sam and he'd made arrangements to be present at the initial court date for the conviction of this accused man. No bail had been posted and the facts had been put forward. An unexpected piece of evidence had come up, though, and the court had adjourned for a later date.

                As the accused left the courtroom, his and Sam's eyes had met, hazel to deep, ocean blue, and something had sparked. There was something in those eyes, a lingering innocence that Sam had recognized and was unable to let go of. There was no way that someone whose fright was held back by willpower alone, whose shoulders shook beneath a tan trench coat, and whose tie was so unprofessionally crooked was guilty. There was too little guilt there, too little... reality to this person. His stubbled cheeks still held some of the roundness of childhood even though he was well into his thirties (as a quick news search on his phone that morning had discovered). Castiel Novak's eyes widened at the scrutiny, but he was pushed on by the guards that were escorting him.

                That was when Sam made the decision to meet the alleged murderer, torturer and possible innocent.

                It had taken almost every favour he had stocked from his six years in law practice, but he got into the prison for an interview where Mr. Novak was being held. He'd been stripped of everything metal, watch, cufflinks, phone, iPod, belt buckle, and had been told he'd receive the items when he was done. Every colour in the place had been mute and dull, probably to keep inmates calm, but as he passed the rec room for lower security prisoners, it was clear that it wasn't working. A fight broke out in the three seconds he stared. Guards rushed in to quell the disturbance and Sam's guide ushered him hurriedly down the hall to one of the rooms that was available for confidential meetings.

                When the door opened and Sam was expected to take a step through, he'd hesitated. What if he was wrong about this guy? What if he really was a cold blooded killer, rapist, freak? What if that look he'd seen in the courtroom really was just his ruse to try and get his innocence declared? But on the other hand, what if he'd seen the truth? Could he let this man go away for life and let the real sick-o roam free? No. No, he couldn't do that.

                So he'd entered the room, crossed to the chair in a few long strides, set his briefcase down, got out the necessary papers and then looked Castiel Novak in the eye.

                "Did you kill those people, Mr. Novak?"

                "No," had come the short answer.

                The answer was so absolute, so certain, so _true_ that Sam couldn't let it go. There was no way that this man was lying. The voice, so rough, like he'd spent hours screaming for justice, for someone to hear, was telling the truth. He was going to go free even if Sam had to bust ass for a year in every court from here to Washington.

                "Well, we'd better get you a decent case, then. I'm Sam Winchester."

                The shoulders of the man sagged like any strings that had been holding him up had been severed completely and a shaky smile crept onto his face. "If you are to be my new council, I recommend you address me as Castiel. I hope this goes well, Sam Winchester."

                True to his word, Sam put up a magnificent defense, gaining enough time for investigators to find evidence proving Castiel's innocence and clearing him of all charges. It had been a long and bitter battle with no end of complications, but in the end he and Cas, as Dean had begun to call him in their frequent phone calls, made it through. The police had put their suspicions onto another man, known only by the name Crowley. Word on the street was he had a nasty reputation, some even going so far as to call him King of Hell. There were no further leads though, all tip-offs being either phony or like trying to catch smoke. All they ended up with was a black mess on their hands and a whole lot of nothing.

                Afterwards, he and Castiel had gone out for a drink to celebrate the court victory. In their talks, they'd learned a lot about each other. Cas had tons of siblings, all doing their own things, off in their own little worlds. He knew a ton about all kinds of mythology, which reminded Sam fondly of Uncle Bobby. He wondered if Cas knew as much as the drunk old man, but he doubted it. The books that Bobby had at his decrepit house were many and he'd said that he'd read all of them. Sam doubted it, but whenever he needed to know some bit of arcane knowledge, he went to Bobby.

                Castiel did know an astounding amount about angels, though. He told stories about the mischievous Gabriel, the stoic Michael, and the pig-headed Zachariah. Sam didn't like Zachariah. There was more than one time when he'd stop Cas in the middle of an account to tell about how much a douche the angel was. And that didn't even make sense, because weren't all angels supposed to be holy and good and stuff? That's when Cas had brought up Lucifer for the first time, the Morning Star. Satan was indeed an angel, and had been imprisoned in Hell for his corruption of the human race.

                The stories of angels that Sam had been told today brought back his memories of Castiel and the conversations they'd had, all the mannerisms Sam had noticed throughout their acquaintance. How Cas would tilt his head to the side and seem to look through you, rather than look at you. How he would ask questions that most people would think obvious. How he would make you slightly uncomfortable just by _being_ , but would calm the feeling by simply smiling.

                Lucifer had been the same way. Almost. There was that little twitch at the corner of his mouth when Sam had said something he found funny that had threatened to turn into a full smile, but never quite carried it out. The way he spoke, like he had been listening for a long time and then finally had the chance to tell his opinion, was fascinating because who had he been listening to? What had he heard that had given him such an outlook on life? From just that short time earlier, Sam had felt power in Lucifer's words. There was a sense of superiority there that hid, like an eagle perching on a tree. Not in plain sight, but if you looked up, he would be sitting there, looking down at everything with a detached sense of importance. It should have been infuriating, but it simply... wasn't.

                Putting the last of the medical supplies back into the first-aid kit, Sam sat and stared out the window before sighing and standing up, trying to stay on the ball of his foot. Setting his heel down wasn't going to be much of an option for the next few hours. He chucked the kit back into Dean's duffel and started cleaning up the blood from the carpet of the room and the tile of the kitchenette. This was how Dean found him when he finally returned, on his knees, scrubbing salt water into the carpet in a vain attempt to get rid of the stain.

                "Going domestic on me, Sammy?" he said as he set some plastic bags on one of the counters.

                "Shut up. I don't exactly want to get billed extra because we got blood in the carpet."

                A snort came from Dean's general direction as he began to stick the six pack of beer in the fridge along with three or four pieces of pie. Sam gave him a look that said, how much of that stuff can you eat? It was shot down with a look that said, however much I want.

                "Whatever. We heading to that bar?"

                "Yeah. Saw it on the way back in, s'called the Roadhouse. Can't believe I didn't remember that."

                "Well, do you wanna get going?" Sam stood up and chucked the soiled paper towels he'd been using into a trash bin and dusted his hands off. "Or do you want to eat all that pie first?"

                "Don't even tempt me." He held up a hand and beckoned Sam forward. "Let's go, Sasquatch."

\---------

                Marks were clear even as they entered the joint. Two guys were at the pool table, leaning on their cues and talking among themselves. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and went straight to the bar. A pretty blonde thing in a black tank top and altogether too short of shorts came over.

                "What can I get you two?"

                Dean gave her a shameless up and down look and gave his most charming smile. "A name would be good. Number would be better."

                She raised an eyebrow. "Nice try. Call me back when you've gained some self-respect."

                "Two beers. Whatever's on tap." Sam gave her an apologetic smile.

                "Coming right up."

                The blonde got their drinks for them and Dean raised his glass sarcastically to her with a wink. She just shook her head and gave a little smile. Sam sighed.

                Turns out, the two guys over at the pool table had been waiting for a decent game all night and after Dean made a glorious show of three beers and a lot of bragging, he lost outright to Sam. With a scowl planted firmly on his face, he'd downed another half a pint and picked up a cue, challenging anyone else who was listening to a game, with bets.

                The two guys, truckers from the looks of it (though Sam couldn't guess why they were this far north on the end of a peninsula), took him up on the offer and threw down fifty. Dean matched it and raised them another twenty. The taller one, who had a rather magnificent beard and a ball cap that reminded Sam of Bobby, took up the cue and broke, claiming stripes. He sunk three before missing a fourth and threw a lopsided grin at Dean. Dean responded by rustling up another fifty. Trucker two took out his billfold and matched it.

                Dean sank four solids and barely missed the fifth. The truckers had gone pale. Trucker one made two more stripes and gulped as Dean lined up his next shot. The rest of the solids flew across the green and into their pockets. Just to show off, the older brother called the pocket and sank the eight ball. With a grin and a wink he scooped up the crumpled bills and stuck them in his pocket.

                "Better luck next time, gents."

                The truckers left.

                Dean went back to the bar.

                Sam stayed at the window and stared out into the fast falling night, which was starting to get a little damp. A deep fog was settling down into the valley where the Roadhouse was situated. It slithered and writhed across his vision, giving him only glimpses of blurred headlights as cars drove past. Soon, he really couldn't see much of anything and instead was going to turn his gaze upon the rest of the room, see if anyone wanted to bet on darts.

                Just as he turned his head, a face came into his view, just off to the side in a chair, facing directly at him. He followed the gaze back to the eyes and jerked to a stop. Sam's eyes took in faded blue jeans, a green t-shirt covered by an unbuttoned over shirt. Then they rose up to blonde stubble and blue eyes.

                "Lucifer," he breathed.


	4. Not Quite Coincidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big gap in between chapters. Sorry! Stuff's been busy. And I did start that two part-er for my friend... I'll finish that this weekend too. SO MUCH WRITING. O_O
> 
> As always, if there are any glaring mistakes, PLEASE TELL ME. Pretty please? In the comments are fine, and if it's embarrassing for some reason... just tweet me I guess... @chaosmidge

                There were a few times in Dean's life where he'd been curious about his brother's sexual orientation. There was the one time, during early high school when he'd caught Sam with another boy in his room, both on his bed, looking slightly rumpled, but they both maintained that they'd been doing homework. Even before that, Sam's awkwardness when it came to girls had been duly noted. He'd had girlfriends, sure, but nothing that ever got past second base. Dean wasn't even sure if he had lost his V-card by the time he'd run off to college.

                Now, however, it was painfully obvious that something was going on. Sitting at the bar, he was talking with Jo, as he'd learned her name was, and keeping an eye on his little brother. Sure, they were supposed to be having fun, but Sam usually did that responsible thing and didn't drink too much before he was supposed to be driving. He was next to the pool table, across from one of the bigger windows, staring out the window when he suddenly turned and paused, staring at the man who'd been sitting ten feet away for the past half hour. His face flushed a bright red.

                Dean sat back against the bar and grinned widely. "See that, Jo? That's my brother getting embarrassed."

                "You two just love to make fun of each other, huh?" The blonde grinned and looked at the source of Sam's embarrassment. "That's Nick. He's in here a few times a week. A little weird, but I'm pretty sure he's harmless."

                Taking another drink from the bottle, Dean squinted his eyes. "Seems like Sammy knows him, though. Which is weird, because we don't know anyone up here."

                Jo shrugged. "Maybe they just hit it off?"

                "Then why would he be looking so freaked out?" Dean set his bottle down on the bar and leaned forward, trying to get a better look. There wasn't anything about him that set off Dean's creep-o meter, honed from a few years in the US Army and a short stint as a cop, but the guy, Nick, wasn't exactly normal, either. Sure, he had short blonde hair, blue eyes, and stubble like a lot of the males on this spit of land. The way he sat, though, leaning towards Sam, full attention on him, was oddly intense. He was taking a little too much interest in the brunette for Dean's liking. What was the harm, though? It wasn't like he was the devil in disguise, right?

\---------

                "Lucifer," Sam breathed. "What are you doing here?"

                "Just watching." He was leaning back in the wooden chair, hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on Sam's. The brunette had to look away and he found his face flushing furiously. That intense gaze was looking into his soul. Seriously.

                "How did you know I'd be here?"

                The man named after a vengeful archangel shrugged and looked out the window. "A man has to have his secrets."

                "You went through my stuff, Lucifer. I'm pretty sure that along with testimony from me of your stalking tendencies will be enough of a case to get me a restraining order."

                "Oh, you think I'm stalking you?"

                "You're not?"

                Lucifer shrugged again.

                "You have a painting of me, one that you've clearly been working on for a while. You show up at the bar where my brother and I are just trying to have fun before we say goodbye for another few months. I'm pretty sure that could make for some pretty damning allegations."

                "Hmmm..." Lucifer uncrossed his arms and tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I'm guessing lawyer, or you've at least taken pre-law courses."

                Sam was almost too busy watching those tapping fingers to hear what he'd said. "Th-that's none of your business," he snapped. "Now how did you know that we were going to be here?"

                "You left your backpack at my place, Sam. I think it's cute that you carry around pictures of your family, by the way. Really, it's very endearing. So imagine my surprise when I saw your brother at the gas station talking to a certain 'Sammy' on the phone. I couldn't help but overhear that you were going to be at the Roadhouse tonight." He paused. "And before you bring up any charges that you might bring against me, remember that you broke into my place."

                "Which is on public property."

                "You're sure about that?"

                Sam stopped and thought. Well, there had never been any No Trespassing signs on the land. Everywhere else on the UP seemed to have them, so anywhere that didn't was generally considered public. And he'd been hunting on that piece of land for years and a) he'd never come across Lucifer before and b) nobody had ever stopped him. If the land was owned, someone would have stopped him, right?

                Right?

                "No. I'm not sure, okay, man?" Sam stood up. "Now, are you going to give me my stuff back?"

                Lucifer's hands came down to rest back on his stomach, fingers laced delicately as he deliberated. "That is the question, now, isn't it?"

                Righteous indignation flashed through Sam's chest. How dare he? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but nobody liked a kleptomaniac. Sam hadn't done anything _wrong_ so why was this man being so irritatingly stubborn? Ask a question and you received deflection. Speak an opinion and a hyperbole was shoved in your face. One wrong move at this point might result in downright assault. Sam just wasn't sure who was going to be the beater and who was going to be the beaten.

                A proper anger that he hadn't felt in a long while started to creep through his veins. It used to be that only John Winchester could bring this out in him, but the fiery hot rage was being triggered more and more often as he'd begun to let it in. He started to recall the tone of arguments with two of his ex-girlfriends, Jess and Ruby. There had been times his anger had almost gotten the better of him and it had definitely been the cause of ending both relationships. Now he felt that anger begin to focus on Lucifer. Like the sun through a magnifying glass, something was going to burn.

                "Question?" Sam prompted shortly. "It isn't a question, Lucifer. This is you fucking with someone who has had it up to here." His hand shot above his head and when he lowered it, tendons stood out in the hand turned fist. The blonde man unclasped his own hands and, seeing the emotion plain on Sam's face, swiftly stood up. Though he was a good few inches shorter, he radiated waves that made him seem just as tall as the brunette.

                Lucifer opened his mouth to say something, but a hand fell down on his shoulder and Dean's smiling, freckled face appeared over his shoulder to look at the tense pair. "Looks like you two need a drink. Here, better yet, Sam, you go outside and cool off and I'll get your friend here a drink." He tugged on Lucifer and directed him away from his brother and towards the bar where Jo was leaning forward with great interest on her face.

                "But, man--"

                "Talk a walk."

                Sam was still rooted to the spot and was about to grab Lucifer back from the older Winchester, but Dean shot him a look that had him turning towards the door. As his long legs took him across the floor, he realized his hand was inside of his coat where he always kept the knife that Ruby had given him when it wasn't on his leg. He'd been close to drawing a weapon on the blonde man! What was wrong with him?

                As he exited, Dean pushed Lucifer into a seat at the bar, but his stance was such that anyone who looked knew that he had allowed himself to be led here. If he hadn't wanted to sit at that stool, he wouldn't have, simple as that.

                "Jo, what does Nick drink?"

                Lucifer's eyes snapped onto the back of Dean's head and he stood up silently. It was only when Dean looked over that he saw the man on his feet. In this case, there was a bit of a height difference, made even more plain by the look of disgust that was etched onto the taller man's face.

                "Joanna Beth," he said calmly, not pulling his arctic gaze away from Dean. "What have I told you about using that name?"

                Jo rolled her eyes and slid a glass of dark amber liquid towards him on the bar top. "I don't like your middle name, Milton. It gives me the creeps. Use the name your parents gave you."

                "They gave me the name Lucifer. I didn't choose it, but I prefer it."

                Dean's left eyebrow shot up. "Lucifer? Your middle name is Lucifer?"

                His gaze shifted to the glass and he picked it up with a steady hand, taking a slow sip. "If it bothers you that much, take it up with Sammy. He seemed to be okay with it. Rather fascinated, actually." Lucifer took another sip, running his tongue along his lips to catch the last drops of liquid, and set the glass down.

                A shiver ran along Dean's spine. Something about this guy was off. Seriously off. Curdled milk, rotten meat sort of off. His predator gaze was enough to make Dean's fingers itch for a gun he no longer carried just so that he'd know he had some sort of protection from this man. And he'd called Sam by his nickname. Nobody got away with that without a fight and Dean couldn't see any bruises on this man. Is that what had gotten the sasquatch so worked up?

                The older Winchester glanced towards the windows at the front of the bar and saw Sam leaning against the Impala across the lot, staring into the sky like he was waiting for a sign from Heaven. His face was blank, but Dean could just barely make out the twitching of a vein in his temple that only pulsed when he was really pissed.

                "You don't get to call him Sammy, _Nick_ ," Dean spit the name out, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I want to know what you did to my brother."

                "I didn't do anything, Dean." The mild expression on his face was more than infuriating to the older Winchester. Wait a second, though... How did he know...?

                "How do you know my name? Did Sam mention it?"

                Lucifer smiled a little. "In a way."

                "What the hell does that mean?"

                The nerve of this guy! Seriously! No wonder Sam had been ready to jump this guy. And he had been ready, Dean could tell. The way his hand had gone into his coat, gripping that stupid knife. Yeah, Dean knew that's where he kept his knife. He knew all of his brother's tells. The problem was that the tells were getting more and more frequent. The temper that Sam had struggled to keep under control all through his childhood years in school was surfacing again. After their mother had died in that house fire, their father hadn't been the same.

                Sam had grown up in that volatile environment and it hadn't done amazing things for his psyche. Sure, the kid was sweet, he wouldn't even kill spiders, wouldn't fight back when some bully picked on him. He would defend his friends until he'd been beaten black and blue, but he never threw a punch. His eyes would be practically burning out of his skull with the hatred and Dean had seen a few times when his nails dug so hard into his palms that he bled, but Sam had never fought back.

                Nowadays it was still difficult for him to keep his temper under control. How he managed in the courthouse, Dean didn't know, but he guessed that it was sheer willpower. He'd worked too hard for too many years to become a defense lawyer and he wasn't going to throw that all away on a deep rooted anger. Because, you know, that made total sense.

                But this Nick guy. How had Sam resisted? There was something so infuriating about his smug smile, that relaxed poise, the overpowering sense of superiority. Dean got the feeling that given the chance he'd have wiped that face clean himself, but there was a coiled sort of power underneath the skin that he couldn't forget. If he were to start throwing punches he wasn't sure who would come up on top. So for the sake of his pretty face, if nothing else, he told himself to cool it.

                "Means exactly what I said, Dean." Lucifer took another sip of his amber drink and set the glass back on the bar. Jo was standing uncertainly against the back wall, uncertain whether she should interfere or not.

                Dean took a deep breath.

                "Whatever." He backed up a little bit and sat down heavily on the stool, trying to shrug off Lucifer's unwavering gaze.

                There was an awkward silence between the two of them while Dean thought on what he could say. He honestly hadn't had a plan when he'd gone over to save Sam. It was just about... well, saving Sam. And maybe keeping a guy from being punched in the face, though Dean supposed it wouldn't have been much of a loss if he had been. So now that that part of the conversation was over and done with, the introductions were said, and the initial judgments had been made on both sides, they just sat, letting the buzz of the bar all around cocoon them.

                Lucifer just kept sipping at his drink, staring at Dean's face, and occasionally looking over to the window where Sam was still visible. The tall man was standing in the middle of the lot, just looking into the sky. Lucifer wondered if he could see the stars on such a cloudy night or if he simply wished to be somewhere else. Or perhaps there were other matters on his mind...

                "Nick--"

                "Joanna Beth."

                "Don't call me that."

                "Don't call ****me**** that."

                "Fine."

                Silence.

                Lucifer sighed. "What did you want?"

                "Are you going to cause a fight every time you come in here? I can get my mom to ban you if you do." Jo took his empty glass and poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into the cut crystal. A nice glass for a bar, but Dean didn't doubt that he was the only one that got to use it.

                "When I'm your best customer?" A blonde eyebrow went up. "You want to cut my business?"

                Jo shook her head. "I just don't want any trouble. You and your stupid, mysterious ass come in here most nights, have three drinks and leave again. You don't even drive; you just show up."

                "You're very observant, Ms. Harvelle." Lucifer put his elbow on the bar and leaned down to put his chin in his hand. "Please, tell me more."

                "You wear a wedding ring, but you've never brought your wife in, never even talked about her. It's just those three stupid drinks, in and out. I think this is the most you've spoken since you threatened those guys who were going to burn this place down."

 

                Dean looked down, first at the golden band that was indeed on Lucifer's ring finger and second at his face, those arctic eyes. He'd what? Who had wanted to burn this place down? And Lucifer had stopped them? That didn't seem to fit with his character at all, though he had no reason to disbelieve Jo. Dean pursed his lips and continued listening.

                "I speak. Just not with words you understand, child. My true... self is not something I reveal frequently." Lucifer looked down into his glass with an amused smile, but Dean caught his glance through the window at Sam.

                Now, the elder Winchester didn't pride himself on being the sharpest tool in the shed. Sammy was the one who got into Stanford with a full ride. Sammy was the one who'd always paid attention in school and had outstanding grades even through the constant moving and transitions, but by no means was he stupid. The ability to put cars together in ways that made them work again wasn't so different from putting the pieces of a person's personality together. It was what he'd learned in his time on the police force.

                This Nick guy... Lucifer... whatever... was definitely not an open box. His box was closed tight, sealed and locked, but there seemed to be a crack in it. Even if he was supposedly quiet, he had his tells, he had his weaknesses. Jo, apparently, was one of them. He spoke to her, responded to her. Dean had noticed that she hardly asked questions. He wasn't the type to answer them outright so Jo had found a way around it. She spoke in fact, letting the blonde before them fill in details where they were blank.

                So that was one weakness. Another? Sam. Every time there was something that made him think, Nick/Lucifer would look up at the brunette outside and something would flicker across his face, brief as a flash of lightning, but nearly as strong. There was ferocity to the expression that Dean couldn't quite believe in a man so collected as he. How did they know each other, really?

                When he looked up next, however, Sam was making his way back through the door, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, hair slightly awry from running his hands through it one too many times. Instead of running through his hair, they were now shoved in his pockets as an attempt to ward off the cold. He took them out now, though and let them hang at his sides as he approached the bar.

                "Hi," he said lamely.

                "You calm, man?" Dean looked him right in the eye, knowing Sam couldn't lie to him.

                He nodded. "Better." Sam looked at Lucifer. "Can I talk to you?"

                "Mmmm, not if you're going to shout at me again." He picked his glass back up and drained it, running his tongue over his lips again to catch the rest of the liquid. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

                Sam, to his credit, just closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, he said, "Outside, please. I just want to talk."

                "Very well." Lucifer set the empty glass on the shiny bar top and gave Jo a brief smile. "Thank you, dear."

                "I'll tab it."

                "Wouldn't expect any less of you." Lucifer shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets and nodded at Sam. "Shall we, Sammy?"

\-------

                The air was cool and damp and Sam could almost feel the water in the air condensing on his frozen hands. The moon tried to shine through the thick bank of clouds above them, but it was only a fading spot on the dark plain above the two men. Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked. They had no destination, just the ability and idea to walk and so they headed in the direction of the road, away from the sight of the windows where Dean and Jo would no doubt be watching.

                Sam broke the silence first. "You seem to get along well with the blonde bartender. She a _friend_?" The lilt of his voice on the word "friend" hinted at something more.

                Lucifer just chuckled, not even fazed by the implications. "If that's what you want to believe, I won't stop you."

                Sam scowled. "Don't you ever answer a question straight?"

                "Do you ever have a conversation without blowing your top?" That stopped the taller man in his tracks. Lucifer stopped to look back at him. "Did I hit a sore spot?"

                "Yes," Sam said, gritting his teeth. "And you, Archangel of Hell, are just antagonizing me." They continued to walk. They reached the road and turned left.

                The cool amusement hadn't once left Lucifer's face as long as they'd been outside. "I'm glad you recognize it. It's so fun to rub you in all the wrong ways."

                Sam just opened his mouth and then closed it again, uncertain of what to say. Everything that came out of this man's mouth was a double entendre. How was he supposed to have an intelligent conversation when there was no way to get a straight answer out of the man?

                "You are the most antagonizing person I have ever met--"

                "--Thank you."

                "And I don't even know your real name. I refuse to believe your name is actually Lucifer. No parents are that sick. And I'm not sure if you can actually change your name to that, legally. I mean, I know I'm a lawyer and all and the US is pretty lenient about names, but Luci-"

                "You're rambling, Sammy."

                If it were possible for Sam's cheeks to go any pinker, they did.

                "And my parents were that sick, I guess."

                "So your name is legally Lucifer?" Sam had to admit, his interest was piqued. A man who hung out in a treehouse in the middle of a forest and was named Lucifer? That made for one interesting life.

                "Nicholas Lucifer Milton"

                "Wow. Lucifer Milton. Your parents must have hated you."

                "I suppose." Sam felt a twinge of guilt at the tone in the blonde's voice. It was almost dead, but there was a broken glass quality to it. It cut into Sam, but not as deep as it might have. He guessed the sharp edges had been worn down through the years.

 

                Lucifer's hands were still in his pockets, but at that he took them out and stopped. He turned his entire body in order to look at Sam.

                "What about you, Samuel Winchester? Did your _parents_ hate you?" He spat the word "parents" like a curse, like it was grit in his mouth that belonged underfoot, rather than inside of him. For the first time in a while, that cool amusement that was so central to Lucifer's demeanor was replaced with ice cold anger. It wasn't like Sam's fiery fury. Instead, it resembled those lowest circles of Hell, the great ice sheet across which gales of frozen wind blasted. Sam's animosity was a paper fan's displaced air in comparison to Lucifer's hurricane. The hurricane was so well contained, though, that not a single blade of grass was swept out of place. And unlike a hurricane, the expression was gone in a matter of seconds, though the aftermath was clear on the blonde's stubbled cheeks as a white complexion.

                Sam shook his head. "I never knew my mom. She died when I was really young. I don't even remember her. And my dad..." He paused. "Well, my dad had his reasons for being angry and drunk a lot, but he didn't hate me or my brother. He may have said some nasty words when I left for Stanford, but I don't really think he meant them." Looking up at the cloudy sky, Sam continued after a brief pause. "It's been years and I think I've found it in my heart to forgive him, but it's been tough, the last words between us being hateful ones. It wasn't the way I would have chosen. If I could see him just one last time, I'd make sure we left on good terms. If I could go back, just once, I would make sure that harsh words weren't the last thing either of us heard."

                Silence.

                "Then again, what do I know? Maybe we would have ended up shouting at each other again. I guess that's just how Dad and I were. We almost never had agreeing ideas, but we were family, so we had to stick together. Dean had to tell me that Dad was dead when it finally happened, but I'll admit, and don't you ever tell Dean this, but I wasn't even sure I wanted to go back to the funeral. I mean, I pray and stuff, I hope to... well, God, that there's somebody out there listening, but I didn't think that even if Dad was looking down from Heaven or wherever, that he'd want _me_ at his funeral. I was his son, I get that, but we never got along. He left Dean the Impala and most everything else, but I'm glad I did end up going to that stupid ceremony.

                "Turns out, Dad left me his journal. It was the one thing that he'd never let anyone touch, never let anyone see, no matter how much they asked. He'd write down all of his miscellaneous thoughts in it, all the stupid little ghost stories he'd hear on his hunting trips. He told Dean and I those exact same stories, but he'd never let us read them out of the book. It was just Dad. Stupid rules that neither Dean nor I wanted to follow, but we did it because otherwise we'd get the crap kicked out of us in some stupid drill Dad pulled up from his army days.

                "When I finally got ahold of that stupid thing, I almost chucked it in the fire. It was all of Dad's thoughts that I didn't want to know. I imagined that it was all of his disappointment in me poured into one little book, a few pages of loose, handwritten script. I didn't want to read it because I didn't want to know what he really thought of me. But when I opened it up, I was so confused. It seemed like he'd just left me a ton of the stories that I'd asked for as a kid... okay, and as a teenager, but whatever. Point is, he gave me what I loved. He gave me a collection of the tales that made me what I am today and I didn't hate him for it. I always imagined that I'd hate everything that Dad would leave to me in the end, but that journal, that stupid little journal, just wasn't what I was expecting."

                Silence.

                "At the end of it, there was a little note that he'd written about four or five days before he'd died. It was addressed to my apartment in Palo Alto, even though I'd never told either him or Dean where I lived. I read it. I don't think I've ever cried so hard in my life. He forgave me." Sam stopped to look up at the sky. "I said all that shit and spent all those years hating him, but in the end, he forgave me.

                "I still have the journal. It's actually back at the motel Dean and I are staying at. I always keep it with me. Every time one of us hears a new story, we put it in there. It's like having a piece of Dad with us when we're hunting. It just feels right, for some reason. I don't know what I'd do without that book.

                "But going back to your question, no. I don't think my dad hated me. He may not have respected my choices, might not have given me the best farewell words, but in the end, he cared. I think that's what matters most of all." Sam looked up and to his chagrin, found his eyes getting a little bit misty. He rubbed his eyes suddenly, under the pretense of being tired, but he got the feeling Lucifer knew.

                "You're lucky, Sam. Not everyone gets to have what you received at the end." Lucifer put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad that out of the billions of apes on this planet, you were the one who got to have closure."

                Sam let out a puff of air through his nose that almost could have been a laugh. "And how do I know you're not lying to me, oh Lucifer?"

                Arctic eyes bored a hole in his soul as that red mouth said, "I would never lie to you, Sam."


	5. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I was convinced to post some more of this? The majority of this chapter was written a LONG time ago, like back when I still thought I was gonna update regularly.  
> I'm gonna try to continue this. Please expect changes in writing style. I'm sorry for the inconsistency. I will try to match it as closely as I can, but it's really been a while since I've done anything other than essays for classes. Little snippets, maybe, but nothing extended like how I wrote this before.  
> Chapters from now on are also likely to be shorter than my normal 4-5k. I dislike that fact, but if I can get lots of little pieces out, maybe it's better than getting stuck on a longer one.  
> Also, sorry that formatting is inconsistent. I'm too lazy to change it. However it copy/pastes from Word is how it's going in there.
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.   
> Thanks for bearing with me.

               The two stood in silence at the edge of the road. A cool wind blew over them, pulling the smell of pines and Lake Superior over them. Lucifer's last words hung in the air while the two just stared at each other because nothing more really needed to be said. Sam had never shared the story of the journal with anyone but Dean, and that was just because Dean was wondering what was in the journal their father had left him. Just like John Winchester, Sam didn't allow anyone to pick up that little book, the exception being Dean. The thought of letting anyone else touch the forgiveness of his alleged sins was very nearly painful.

               But Lucifer... there was something about the way he spoke, about the way he listened. It was as though he were just filling in the blanks in the blonde man's knowledge. He held himself like he already knew something about everything, was all knowing, and God did that piss Sam off sometimes. It was the reason he'd almost blown his top earlier. But now? There was something that had changed about Lucifer.

               "Hey," Sam said suddenly. "Did something happen inside?" He cleared his throat nervously when he just got a blank look. "I mean, did Dean say anything to you? You're acting different."

               Lucifer just shrugged. "Your brother is more intelligent than he acts."

               Sam smiled. "I know. He could have gotten into a good college if he'd actually tried."

               "Why didn't he?"

               "Went into the army. Dad thought he should, so he did. He was never much one for structured, formal education, either." Sam turned and started to walk back towards the Roadhouse. "What about you? Have any siblings?"

               "One. An older brother. And a lot of cousins." Lucifer didn't say anything more even though Sam looked at him, searching for more. But his face had become closed off again, more deep in thought than angry, though. The planes of his face were difficult to make out in the dark, but Sam almost thought he detected some concern... or was it sadness? Melancholy, he decided.

               "You're not on very good terms, then?" Really, he couldn't help but prod. He was a lawyer and finding out information from people was just what he did. Find the information, put together logical arguments and present them to judge and jury. So what if he should have been better at reading people who clearly didn't want to talk?

               Lucifer stopped in his tracks. "Who are you to assume anything about me? It's not as though you and Dean were always on the best terms. For that matter, the whole of your family is split. Mother and father are dead, no aunts or uncles and you want to ask me about my family? Don't you know enough about families that are split apart?"

               Sam recoiled as though he'd been struck. The icy anger in Lucifer's eyes gleamed at him through the dark and he could feel a cold spreading through his chest from their stare. It almost felt like he'd been shot and the warmth was leeching from his bones with every second that his heart beat. A wind whipped up, seeming to blow through him as they stood there in complete silence.

               "I'm so--"

               "--Oh, don't tell me you're sorry, Sammy. Just don't ask me again."

               In an instant, they were back to the mood they'd been just a few minutes ago, light but focused, though there was still a creeping unease in Sam's mind. The wind settled down and Lucifer continued walking with Sam trailing behind by a few steps. It was about ten minutes later when they reached the parking lot of the Roadhouse that the brunette spoke again.

               "Are you going to explain that painting you had in your lair?"

               "Lair?"

               "The treehouse."

               "Ah, yes. My Cage. And no, no I'm not going to." Lucifer's eyes gave a wicked glint. "Unless of course you want to come back there with me tonight?"

               Sam narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't help the pink blush that heated his ears. "What do you mean?"

               "What did I say?"

               "Would you stop doing that?"

               "Doing what?"

               "Answering questions with questions."

               Lucifer smirked. "There's a way around that you realize. Don't ask questions."

               Exasperated, Sam shot back, "But then how am I supposed to learn anything about you?"

               "You're smart. Can't you figure it out?"

               Sam felt the red hot rage surfacing again, but he took a deep breath of the cool night air and stopped for a second, thinking. "That treehouse, or whatever, you call it your Cage, with a capital C."

               "Yes I do."

               "Explain."

               The smirk on Lucifer's face widened to a grin, like he'd finally managed to teach his pet dog a useful trick. Sam was equal parts proud at having figured out how to talk to the man and disgruntled that he was receiving such a patronizing look. "When my brother and I were children, we had a treehouse, just like that, but it was never any fun if only one of us was there. So my father, brilliant," Sam could basically see the word tilted in sarcasm, "man that he was, figured it was a punishment to send one of us there at a time for time-outs." Lucifer stopped. "It's there that I learned the ins and outs of being alone. Now that I'm older, I call my treehouse the Cage because of all the memories held captive there, both good and bad."

               "But you also can't escape it."

               "Not entirely, no."

               "And that's why you keep all of your art there."

               "Correct again." Lucifer crossed his arms. "Why the sudden interest in me when all you wanted to do, not forty-five minutes ago, was stab me in the gut?"

               Sam ran a hand through his long hair, no doubt messing it up more than it already had been from the wind and the exercise. "I don't know. I guess there's just something about you. It sounds weird to say the word magnetic, but I've also never met anyone like you."

               "Oh?"

               "Well, for one, you're a manipulative son of a bitch--"

               "--Thank you."

               "No problem. Secondly, you tell interesting stories. I'd never heard that variation on the origin of man, Lilith and all that. Third, you're so easy to talk to, I just hate it when you do that irritating question-with-a-question thing. But it's weird because even though you're easy to talk to, you seem so lonely." Sam looked him straight in the eye at this, hoping for some reaction. "And that's something I can identify with."

               The glacial blue eyes stayed level, no reaction. "Even though you have Dean?"

               "Especially because I have Dean. We went down two different roads a long time ago. Even if he tries to understand my life, he can't. Not a lot of people can, and it gets really lonely." There was a pause, but finally the brunette shrugged. "Sorry for the sob story."

               "No, no. It's quite alright. I find you just as interesting." Lucifer smiled. "After all, how many people would break into a treehouse to see what was there?"

\---------

               Dean had just been sitting and talking to Jo as they waited the half an hour for Sam and Lucifer to come back. They were pretty relaxed around each other despite the rocky start, but Dean kept glancing back out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother. No matter what they'd all sorted out, Dean still didn't like the blonde man. He was manipulative and had that shifty feel that Dean had gotten from a lot of criminals he'd arrested, back in the day. It was the slimy, "I can slip out of any trap you set for me." It made the older Winchester itch for a pair of handcuffs. You could take a man out of the police system, but you couldn't take the police system out of a man.

               So when Lucifer and Sam finally appeared through the window, he was uneasy that they seemed to be laughing and talking together like old friends. As Lucifer opened the door for the taller man, Dean stood, ready to defend his little brother to the death. The look that he got from his bigger little brother clearly said, don't go there, man, so he sat back down as he heard Lucifer speak.

               "Just stop by tomorrow before you leave and I'll give it back."

               "So long as everything is still in it, I might even thank you."

               With that, Lucifer nodded to Jo and Dean and went back out the door, disappearing into the night as though he'd never been.

               "Guy is just too damn mysterious, Sammy," Dean growled. "And what did he mean about stopping by?"

               Sam flushed. "You know that guy I said I saw? He disappeared into the trees?"

               "Don't tell me that was him."

               "Maybe? And I kinda left my backpack there when I went back this morning." The flush on Sam's face was growing deeper, spreading to his neck.

               Dean froze momentarily and then scowled. "I don't want you going back there. There's something... not right about that guy. I feel like he's gonna get you in a really bad place really fast." As well as Dean meant, and as bad (or confused) of a feeling he'd gotten off of Lucifer, he couldn't quite put it into words. So he stopped trying.

               "I--" Sam stopped and looked up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing as if he were looking for the secrets of the universe in the rafters. "I know where you get that, but I honestly don't believe he's going to be a threat. I could see you guys from outside, you know. And he and Jo seemed to get along just fine."

               "Doesn't mean I trust him," she interjected, coming back around the bar from the back room she'd retreated into at some point. "I just know how to talk to him."

               Sam grinned. "Yeah, I think I've figured that one out too." The smile faded slightly. "But I am going to go see him tomorrow. I need to get my stuff back, that's not a lie."

               Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean let out a short sigh, more of a grunt than anything. "I still don't like it. But can I really stop you?"

               "No, you can't." Sam was adamant.


	6. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was probably a slightly creepier chapter than I meant it to be. Enjoy?

               He probably should have stopped me, Sam thought as he stared up at the treehouse set in the copse of trees. The morning was dim, clouds obscuring the watery autumn sun. It was colder than usual, frost nipping at the branches of trees that hadn't yet lost their fire colored leaves. Everything smelled wet from the rain the previous day, but the ground was almost frozen enough to be solid. A wind rustled the leaves, clacking branches together.

               Sam shivered and rubbed his hands together. He'd forgotten to bring gloves, but he would have just taken them off for the climb, in any case, so there was no real point in complaining.

               Before he could think better of his decision to return, he grabbed the lowest branch and started the climb up to the top. There were fewer branches to catch at him now that he didn't have his backpack on, but hopefully that would be fixed on the way back down. That was only if Lucifer actually decided to give it back, though, and wasn't a total ass about it.

               The thought made Sam smile as he reached the door of the treehouse. He was slightly winded by the climb even though he'd stopped a few times as the wind gusted through, shaking the trunks and branches he was gripping. His heart had pounded nervously in response to the spikes of adrenalin pushed into his system as he imagined what would happen if he fell. It really was quite a long way to the ground below, likely more than thirty feet.

               Hesitating about what to do now, he stared at the door before knocking lightly. He knew the door wasn't locked, it didn't have one, but it felt weird to just bust in when he now knew who owned the place.

               "Come in, Sam," came the muffled reply.

               He opened the door to find Lucifer sitting on the floor, sketchbook in hand, pencil to the page. He was still wearing work jeans and boots with a faded green t-shirt, but today his over shirt was a dark grey canvas material. The arctic blue eyes twinkled as he smiled up at the brunette visitor.

               "Welcome back. It's good to see you."

               "You saw me last night," Sam said distractedly, looking around at the walls. There were fewer drawings up than there had been before, but the ones that were left were almost all different. There were different subjects as well. Angels no longer held dominance on the walls. Now there were a variety of monsters, some with horns and tails, and others that looked entirely normal but for some obvious differences. One charcoal man had eyes on his outwards facing palms and a woman on the opposite wall had a Glasgow smile with razor sharp teeth bared in a threatening grin. That particular one had been splashed with pale tan paint and smudges of red to accentuate the smile and thin frame.

               Sam shivered again.

               Lucifer noticed and tilted his head to the side, looking at him with curiosity. "Are they not to your liking, Sam?

               "Just a little creepy, that's all." He turned back to the seated man. "Do you have my backpack?"

               He pulled it out from behind him and shoved it across the floor. "I would appreciate it if you stayed a little while and kept me company, though."

               Sam hesitated. On the one hand, he didn't know Lucifer that well, aside from their two talks the previous day. He knew that the blonde both infuriated and intrigued him and that he had a tendency to be a tad overwhelming.  Otherwise, he knew very little. On the other hand, there was that little bit of intrigue. Something about Lucifer kept him curious. There were definite walls up that he never let down or let anyone have a glimpse behind. Though he'd talked about his family, he hadn't really said anything. Sure, he and his father hadn't gotten along. It was much the same with Sam, but there was no telling why they hadn't. He'd become furious when asked about it, but that had only deepened the flame of interest.

               He looked up at Lucifer and as their gazes met, something settled in Sam's gut. Sitting on the floor, he scooted back until his spine hit the wall and then looked back at the other man. "Alright."

               A smile slowly spread across Lucifer's face. "Thank you."

               "You're welcome. Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"

               "Was there something on your mind that we need to talk about?"

               Sam shrugged, pulling his backpack towards him and checking to make sure the contents were all still there. He still wasn't sure if he trusted the man completely. "Not especially, but you had a good story yesterday. Maybe you could tell another."

               "A story for a story seems fair." Lucifer put his sketch pad aside and lay the pencil down on top of it. Sam could see that it showed the beginnings of a cloaked figure, his face just an empty space on the page. He didn't know whether it was unfinished or the figure just didn't have a face. "You go first."

               Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. "You made me come here to get my backpack. It's only fair that you go first."

               Lucifer raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You broke in and left it here in the first place, but I digress. What would you like to hear?"

               "What do you have to tell?"

               He glanced down at the sketch pad next to him. "How about the story of the watchers and the waiters?"

               "Sounds interesting." Sam settled back. "So how does this story start?"

               Lucifer's ice blue eyes closed and he breathed in deep before he started.

 

               "In a place not quite like this and quite far away, there was a group of people. Nobody knew who they were or why they were there, but everyone knew about them and everyone feared them. For lack of a better name, they were called the Watchers and the Waiters. Nobody knew what they looked like because nothing could capture their image. Though people set up cameras and other recording equipment, the only thing they could catch were distorted blurs and hazy shapes.

               "It was said that they would come in the middle of the night, always in pairs, while everyone was sleeping and go into the rooms where children slept. They would stand, watching and waiting until the deepest sleep came over the little ones. It's said that they conducted tests on the children, trying to see where their dreams came from and how they held a spark of life that no adult truly had.

               "Nothing bad would ever happen to the children, but sometimes there were nightmares. In these nightmares, the children would see things they never could have imagined on their own. One child said that she had seen the entirety of their world and understood all parts of it, only for a creeping darkness to engulf the whole, slowly snuffing out the lights. Beyond that darkness there had been only an overwhelming silence, one that was so great that it threatened to drive any and all who heard it entirely mad. She had been overtaken by that void and had been driven mad as well.

               "Another child, this one a boy, had dreamt not of the death of the world through darkness, but of monsters in the night. While this might not have been unusual, it was quite strange that the monsters in the night were all people he had never seen before. Isn't it said that everyone you see in a dream is someone you've seen before, even for a moment? Well, this boy was entirely certain that he'd seen not a single one of these people in his life. They chased him down with knives and other blades, intent on having his head. The boy later awoke screaming and would not stop screaming until his parents had thoroughly calmed him down. He was five years old at the time.

               "So maybe it's more accurate to say that nothing bad would usually happen to the children. In any case, nothing permanently bad ever happened and though people were less than happy about the Watchers and Waiters being in their homes, there was nothing that they could do. No locked door or guard dog would keep them out or away and no matter how many human guards were put on a door, they would never catch the strange people.

               "There were many theories, some saying that they weren't really people, but rather the personification of our nightmares, brought to life by the very power of our fear. Others said that they were monsters that had been around since the beginning of time, only now being able to come into people's homes because of the slow decomposition of the morality of society. But no matter what the theory, there was one thing in agreement between them all; the Watchers and the Waiters were not human. They just couldn't be.

               "By the time the Watchers and the Waiters had been documented for nearly two decades, something changed. It seemed that those experiments they'd been carrying on had become not enough and suddenly, children across the world started not to wake up. They were taken into hospitals and doctors said they were in some sort of induced coma, though nobody had any idea what had induced it. Once a child fell into one of those endless sleeps, there was no way to wake them up.

               "A new wave of superstitions spread across the world, miracle cures and ways of keeping the Watchers and the Waiters out of homes. People tried anything to keep their children safe, and those with children past the age of fifteen counted their lucky stars that growing up had happened so fast. But no salt across doorways or priests and shaman's rites could keep them away and so children continued to fall victim to the sleeping.

               "Nearly twenty thousand children had been hospitalized in comas before someone managed to wake one up. News spread quickly, but the news wasn't necessarily good. The child who had woken up was empty. No light shone from behind their eyes and though they had the same memories as they used to, that vital spark of imagination and innocence that the Watchers and the Waiters had been looking for was gone. Whatever had sent them into the prolonged sleep had sapped them of their ability to dream and despair fell again onto the world.

               "There was one shred of hope, though. The child who had woken up, though different, was still... well, she was still human. She communicated like a person, ate, slept and acted like a person, even though she was no longer childlike, despite only being eight years old. And in that child, one single psychologist suspected that he had found an answer. Maybe it wasn't the answer that everyone was looking for, but it was an answer that could maybe help.

               "The child had told the psychologist what the Watchers and the Waiters looked like. According to her, the pair that had been with her when she fell into her sleep had been nearly identical. They had both worn smart suits and had black briefcases containing various ticking instruments. They wore black gloves and shiny black shoes to match the rest of their attire. Their faces, she said, had been strange. Not strange as in oddly proportioned or ugly, but strange in a way that she couldn't place. It had seemed as though if she'd reached out to touch them, their faces would have disappeared like frost on a sunny day. She'd been very particular about the frost bit.

               "Nobody knew what to make of this new information, but some people tried to put it to use. Old camera footage of the Watchers and the Waiters was pulled up and to many people's surprise, bits and pieces of some videos and photos now showed what the girl had described. Certain people, generally those in their twenties or thirties, now equipped with the knowledge of what they should be able to see, could now see suits or briefcases. None could see the faces that the girl child had described as frost-like, but it didn't matter. Something was changing.

               "Armed with new knowledge of what the things looked like, some people found that they could stay awake through the night, even when the Watchers and the Waiters were known to be in the area. It was still only ever those people in their twenties and thirties. It was hypothesized that these were people who had been visited in the night during their childhoods, though nobody could prove it. Groups of these people who could see what they looked like began to come together and form organizations to help people protect their children from the threat of eternal sleep.

               "As more and more people stepped forward, the rates of coma cases steadily fell all across the world until there was a day when no child fell asleep for good. Families and Counterwatch, as they began to call themselves, stayed vigilant, though, because they knew that at any moment their brief peace could be shattered in the silence of the night. They all knew the risks of falling asleep and nobody was careless. Nobody.

               "After a year of no new comas, something happened. The child who had been woken, the only child who had ever been woken, came forward and said she'd had a dream. It hadn't been a normal dream. It had been of the Watchers and the Waiters and they had spoken to her. They told her, in voices that she couldn't describe in any other way than the sound of sand against snow, that they were done with their experiments. They said that they had nothing more to learn and that if people would step down from their posts, they would return the children to wakefulness with their sparks intact.

               "The people were hesitant to say the least. Many questions were aimed at the girl, and she answered them all as well and as truthfully as she could, under polygraph and the scrutiny of world leaders. Her story remained the same and her conviction that she was telling the truth only grew stronger. She said that once per week, the Watchers and the Waiters came to her to tell her that they were ready to put things back to the way that they were, if the people would only let them. She knew that the Watchers and the Waiters could not lie, though she couldn't explain how she knew this.

               "One doctor decided to make the call. She told the Counterwatch at the hospital to stand down for the night to see what happened. If nothing happened, it wasn't as though the Watchers and the Waiters could do anything to already comatose children, right? They grudgingly agreed, though parents of the community were less than pleased. The thought that those things would be near their children once again infuriated them as nothing else could.

               "But they were quickly silenced when the next morning, the children woke up, all as bright eyed as they'd been when they went to sleep. Many were confused why it was that they'd lost time, some more than two years, but they were strangely calm about it all. They told the doctors and anyone who would listen that they'd had the most amazing dreams and that they'd dreamed about what the future could be and would be.

               "With this slight reassurance, others of the Counterwatch stepped down and allowed access to their sleeping charges. One by one, the children woke up and began to exclaim the same things, that they had seen the future of the world and that it was bright and full of hope. Soon, every child that had been sleeping in the expanded coma wards of hospitals across the world were awake and everyone was full of joy.

               "The only person that didn't seem entirely happy with the outcome was the child who had been woken before it was time. She still had no dreams, but those of the Watchers and the Waiters, who continued to tell her that the Counterwatch could step down, even those who were guarding the houses of children who'd never been visited by the mysterious entities. She was tired of never seeing the wonder that the other children had seen in their dreams. A few months after the last Awakening, she left her parents' house in the middle of the night and was never seen again.

               "The Counterwatch was slowly abolished as people realized that the Watchers and the Waiters were never seen again. The world began to take a turn for the better, led by the children who had seen such marvelous things in their time of sleeping. The parents of the girl who'd disappeared continued to search for their daughter, scared of what might have happened to her, what trouble she was in. They'd already lost her once, and though she'd come back different, she'd still been their daughter and they loved her. They searched until one night they dreamed like they hadn't done since they were children.

               "Both saw their daughter standing in the middle of two figures, blurred like the images of the Watchers and the Waiters. She stood there silently as they plead at her to return to them, to come home and be with them. After they had talked themselves hoarse, which could have been two hours or two seconds seeing as dreams are fickle things, she spoke.

               "She told them in no uncertain terms that she could no longer dream and that she was sure that she could not be in the world without that ability. She could never have a hope or vision for the future because she simply lacked the capacity and she knew this. She knew from the bottom of her heart that nothing would fell fulfilling to her ever again and so she'd decided. She'd decided to join the ranks of the Watchers and the Waiters and learn what it was about children's dreams that held a spark that adults no longer had. She hugged her parents and turned to leave with the two shapes.

               "Nobody ever heard from the girl or saw her again. Many people wondered where she had gone, for they had all seen her on the news feeds, talking about the Watchers and the Waiters. They all knew that her knowledge had been instrumental in if not defeating the things, then at least getting their children back. But many of those children, the ones who'd been asleep for far too long, assured the world that the girl was alright. They assured that she was learning, and that though it seemed she was changing and wore all black, that her voice sounded like sand against snow and her face became more unseeable every day, she was okay. She was okay and the future was bright. Their dreams were certain and they knew what the world needed to become.

               "And somewhere far away, hidden from the world behind doors locked in ways that nobody could have ever gotten past without the right key, or the correct black briefcase, a meeting was held. The meeting started with a greeting of sand and snow and many things were discussed and decided. A girl sat among the host and smiled a blurred smile. Because now she knew what the children had dreamed. She had been told. And she was also as certain as the other children that the future would be bright. Bright as the sun's reflection off freshly fallen snow and white sand beaches."


End file.
